


jupiter grayscale

by Archadian_Skies



Series: DBH rarepair week 2019 [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pining, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Secret Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 06:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: Tuesday Day 2: Unrequited; post-revolution not!Markus/Simon, RK900/Simon + Markus/Josh





	jupiter grayscale

It shouldn’t disappoint him, shouldn’t wound him so deeply since he expected this outcome but it does anyway, it does knife into him like a cold blade when he realises he is, yet again, not the first choice. He reasons he’s come to terms with it, this state of just _ being_, just existing, just surviving the day to day. He survives the revolution, even sort of has a hand in it though all he really did was echo Markus’ decisions and try to keep the casualties as low as possible. It almost costs him his life at one point, and Simon concludes it would’ve been easier to just die. His life isn’t worth much, he should’ve just absorbed the role of the martyr and died for the cause. Anything would’ve been better than trudging along in this limbo where things continue to happen all _around_ him, but not_ to _ him. 

He’s being melodramatic, if he’s honest with himself, but he figures he’s earned that right whilst watching his close friend fall in love with the man he’s fallen in love with too. Josh deserves this, he deserves to be loved by the leader of their people, he deserves Markus and Markus deserves him too. Josh is strong and eloquent and strives for the integration of their people with mankind. He is also soft and gentle and affectionate, caring and open with others. There’s no one in Jericho like Josh, and there’s no one in Jericho Simon is more closer to than Josh. The PJ500 even gave Simon his Detroit University sweater when Simon’s temperature regulator finally gave out. If there’s anyone who can match Markus’ headstrong determination, his poetic eloquence, his compassion and leadership, it’s Josh. Not Simon. No, there’s no way Simon can ever compare to Josh and the vast sea of knowledge about American history and civil rights in his head. It’s exactly what their people need, what Markus needs, to build a future together with the humans. They are a beautiful, harmonious match and it makes Simon ache right down to his core to see them together. Two beautiful beings so at peace with themselves, so confident in their conviction. And rather handsome, too. Very handsome.

Everything happens at breakneck speed; they’re alive, they’re granted the status of living beings, they’re given basic rights to a surname, to a minimum wage, to accommodation and privacy. The chaos keeps Simon busy, and he’s grateful for it because there’s hardly any time to wallow in the poisoned well of his thoughts. He stays as neutral as can be when they are at meetings, at press releases, at city council even when it claws him apart to see Markus and Josh leaning towards each other like a sunflower to the sun. They whisper to each other, they twine their fingers together beneath the table, they preen each other’s ties, lapels, they bump their brows fondly. They are in love and Simon loves and loathes it at the same time.

“I have been assigned as your security detail.” The RK900 is new in every sense of the word; the completed upgrade of Connor’s RK800 prototype model, the latest addition to the DPD workforce, the most recent deviant in his known circle. 

“Because I’m the obsolete PL600?” Simon muses with a pinch of dark humor. The RK900 frowns.

“Because you are a leader, one of the Jericho Four, and therefore a target for anti-android groups.” He was only half joking, but the other android answers so sincerely it makes him laugh.

“And who is protecting Markus?” 

“My...brother, Connor.” There’s only a slight stumble when he says it, the word a little awkward on his tongue. “He has a security team already set up inside. I am to escort you to the Town Hall from here.”

“Do you have a name?”

“My name is Ronan.” It’s also a little awkward on his tongue, like tasting something he’s never tasted before but knows he’ll grow to like. “It’s derived from the Japanese word _ ronin_, meaning a masterless warrior.” It’s endearing, and Simon realises Ronan is a little like the child in the playground who is new to town and sees everyone playing with their friends and wants to belong too but just doesn’t know how. He reaches out and preens the collar of his smart jacket.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ronan.”

“I am...new. To everything. It is a lot to ask of a Jericho leader, but I wish to learn how to navigate the world.” Ronan speaks hesitantly, the way someone does when fearing they would be struck at any moment. Like a beaten dog. “It is confusing. I was programmed to be...something else. Something violent. But CyberLife had to deviate me as part of the agreement to release all remaining models.” 

“And now you don’t have a clear purpose.” Simon surmises with a sad smile. “That’s the trouble with deviancy, Ronan. No one really has a clear guide but then again that’s just how it is for humans, too.”

The RK900 seems to deflate at that, visibly discouraged, and he looks so earnestly lost it makes Simon smile. The new kid in the playground. He seems to come to his senses and straightens his posture, tilting his head slightly down to compensate for their height difference.

“It is snowing heavily. Your temperature regulator is malfunctioning, you will need to wear adequate clothing to compensate.” Ronan’s shrugging out of his sharp tailored jacket and gently draping it around Simon’s shoulders. “We should leave now or else you will be late.”

Simon bursts out laughing, because the whole thing is just ridiculous isn’t it? A state of the art detective-slash-soldier being paired with a malfunctioning obsolete caretaker. Ronan blinks at him, confused by his outburst and Simon manages a smile. 

“I’m sorry you’re the one stuck with me.” 

“It’s an honour.” Ronan murmurs, as if it’s a confession he’s hesitant to voice. “The RK200 would not have had any deviants to lead if you hadn’t cared for them first.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way, and he stands there stunned as he processes his words. 

“Our taxi will be arriving shortly.” Ronan gestures for him to follow, and Simon’s feet carry him out because his mind is still reeling. This whole time the world has been whizzing passed at breakneck speed and he’s been standing still, stagnant, trapped in a cycle of self-loathing and pity, and now the world’s taken a moment, put the future on pause as it hands him a gift. A new project, a new distraction. 

They sit in the taxi, silent except for the news bulletin playing on the small screen. It’s a beautiful winter’s day, and last night’s snowfall is being dusted with a fresh layer like something out of a Hallmark movie. The vehicle is warm, Ronan discreetly turning on the heating when they’d first settled in and Simon’s not sure what to do. He’s used to fussing over people, not having people fuss over him. 

“Where do you stay, when you’re not on active duty?” 

“I have a small room at the precinct with a charging bed.” At the sight of Simon’s disturbed expression, he continues. “Sometimes if the situation calls for it I will stay in the guestroom at Detective Reed’s apartment.”

“You poor thing.” Simon commiserates and the corners of his mouth twitch up into a brief smile.

“He has two felines who are far better company.” Ronan holds out his hand and shows a holophoto of a pure black, and a fluffy tortoiseshell cat. “If it were not for them I would not stay there.”

Simon laughs at that and is delighted when Ronan chuckles softly too. He looks a little like Connor, but not too much; he’s a little leaner, a little sharper, more intimidating- but they smile the same. His eyes crinkle up like Connor’s, his mouth makes a wide pleasing shape. Simon lets himself fall in love a little. He can’t hurt himself any more than he already has, and Ronan is so far out of his league he figures it’s pretty safe to have a little crush.

* * *

He’s not exactly sure how he’s become the nominated liaison between Jericho and the DPD but he’s not altogether unhappy with the decision. As much as he loves being a caretaker, loving and nurturing the abandoned YK500s and helping them integrate with human children- it’s nice to be given a job interacting with adults. Josh also pointed out his visage helps put humans at ease; apparently a caucasian with blond hair and blue eyes seems more trustworthy than a very handsome professor and all around gentleman with dark skin but what would Simon know. 

Carefully setting down the tray of TeaRiums on the reception desk, he plucks one out and hands it to Stephanie the sweet ST300 deviant.

“Good morning Steph.”

“A very good morning to you, Simon, thank you.” She giggles, accepting the sweet heated beverage. “Meeting’s been delayed a little as Captain Fowler is presently stuck in traffic but you’re welcome to sit and wait.” 

“Thanks, I’ll head on in.” Tray back in his hands, he passes through the security gates and heads for a familiar set of desks. “Good morning Connor, this is for you.”

“Oh, thank you Simon.” The android detective breaks into a wide smile, eager and puppylike and endearing. 

“And this one is for you, Ronan.” Simon smiles softly, offering the other tall cup.

“For me?” Ronan blinks in surprise as he accepts the drink, and Simon gathers the android is probably not used to being given anything in general. “Thank you. I’ve never had one of these before.”

Simon sits on the edge of his desk, the last cup in his hands. “Well now that we’re considered living beings like humans, capitalism has to find a way to profit from us too.” Connor snorts back a laugh, and Ronan barely manages to hide a growing smile as he takes a sip from his cup. _ Adorable_, Simon thinks, _ he’s actually quite adorable _.

* * *

It’s snowing heavily, certainly not the picturesque flurry of a Hallmark movie, and he really, really should not be outside. But he is because he’s stubborn and he hates appearing broken and weak when their people have suffered far worse. Simon grits his teeth and forces himself to bear it, to work through the sluggishness and cascade of errors and stiffness in his joints. He can do this one thing, this one damn thing, _ surely _, and hand deliver important documents to the mayor and attend the meeting. 

“You shouldn’t be outside, it is well below freezing.” Is the first thing Simon hears when he manages to open his eyes. Ronan is looking at him in alarm, reaching for his hands and cupping them in his. The other android is forcing his temperature to spike so Simon can leech his warmth and Simon hates himself a little bit more at how quickly his system soaks it up. 

“What are you doing here Simon?”

“The mayor requested the signed documents be brought to his office and discussed with one of us Four.” Simon’s voice comes out slightly staticky, and he’d be mortified with embarrassment if he weren’t trying so damn hard just to stay functioning. “What are _ you _doing here?”

“...The mayor informed the DPD about this meeting and requested adequate security.”

Simon manages a huff of a laugh, feeling ever more sorry for the both of them in this very moment. Ronan lets go of his hands in order to shrug off his rather handsome new trenchcoat, and he drapes the heavy navy wool garment around Simon’s shoulders like a warm blanket. He’s not sure where Ronan’s taking his satrorial cues from but he does appreciate how the android is always so impeccably groomed. The shelter of the foyer and the warmth from Ronan’s coat starts to compensate for Simon’s broken regulator, and his system finally starts to ease him away from emergency shutdown. It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. How he’s still alive is a mystery to everyone including himself. So he laughs and it sounds a bit like a nervous crazy giggle, like scratchy white noise, but it feels good to get it out anyway. 

“Were you expecting Josh?”

“Yes.” Ronan nods, frowning as Simon continues to giggle. “The nature of this meeting and the weather led me to assume it would be Josh.”

“He and Markus have to prepare for the White House trip.” The mild buzz of hysteria fades a little around the edges as he remembers how fondly they looked at each other, discussing their hopes for a day of sightseeing and precious, private relaxation away from their duties. “North has her hands full with her Eden Club outreach program so that left me.”

“You should have told me.” He sounds so disappointed Simon feels guilty. “I would have arranged for adequate transportation and escorted you here.”

“You really don’t have to worry about me-”

“But I do.” Ronan interjects firmly. “I do worry, Simon.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re one of Jericho’s leaders, you’re an important public figure, and-” he seems to catch himself, eyes widening slightly before he averts his gaze completely. 

“And?” 

“And you’re important to me.” He says it so quietly yet with such conviction, and Simon’s pretty sure this isn’t happening and he’s actually constructing this dream scenario as he’s dying somewhere outside in the snowstorm. “You’ve been endlessly patient with me and helped make sense of my deviancy. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, when you had to be neither of those things. I am here today, the way I am, because of your kindness and your patience.”

“Ronan...” Simon sighs and he’s exhausted, bone-tired as he leans forward and rests his brow against his shoulder. He doesn’t recognise who he is after the violence against them stopped. Who is he, now the revolution is over? All the iterations of him, the Burbank family caretaker Simon, the machine Simon, the Jericho caretaker Simon- they’re all previous chapters in a book that was meant to end but now has an excruciating unplanned epilogue. 

“Don’t say you cannot believe such claims, because you spend your days giving our people hope.” Ronan chastises sternly. “And if you can’t force yourself to believe those claims, then at least believe me.” 

He closes his eyes, turning his head so he’s resting his cheek against Ronan’s shoulder, and the other android hesitates briefly before wrapping his arms around him. When he continues, his voice is softer, his tone tinged with reverence.

“You are Simon of the Jericho Four, and Jericho would not be complete without you. Each of you bring different skills to the table, and yours is no less crucial than the others. Believe me, please.”

What more does he have to lose, really? He left his heart somewhere on that roof in Stratford Tower, or perhaps it’s still inside the rotting hull of the freighter full of ghosts now lying on the bottom of the canal because it’s certainly not in his own chest, or the chest of Markus Manfred. 

“I’m not used to being treated kindly,” a pause, a forced laugh, “or even just being seen.”

“Neither am I.” Ronan murmurs, words smudged in Simon’s hair. “But I see you, Simon. And you see me.”

* * *

It’s a quiet thing, a soft steady thing that gradually manifests rather than something intense and explosive and dramatic consuming his life. It’s a small box of Ronan’s things, all his worldly possessions fitting in so small a container, sitting on the table in Simon’s apartment. It’s Ronan’s jackets hanging in his closet. It’s Ronan’s hands, with an average crush force strong enough to crumple a vehicle, brushing him so softly, featherlight and reverent as if the android longs to map him completely by touch alone. They kiss one unremarkable day in December when Ronan comes home and Simon’s finished his duties for the meantime. He gives him a box.

“I have a gift for you.”

“A gift? It’s still three weeks until Christmas.” Simon teases lightly, running his finger along the black cardboard. 

“It isn’t for Christmas. It’s just a gift I want to give you.” He says matter of factly, the delivery so earnest it always makes Simon smile. He opens the box and it’s a biocomponent he doesn’t recognise.

“It’s a prototype.” Ronan explains hesitantly. “I asked a large favour of the Kamskis and they were surprisingly obliging.”

“The Kamskis?” Simon echoes in surprise. “This is a _ Kamski _prototype?”

“It’s an upgraded thermal regulator.” 

“Oh.” His vision blurs suddenly, and the emotions get stuck somewhere in his chest between his hearts. Plucking the component from the box, he turns it this way and that to admire it. There’s no serial number, just ‘SMN600’ branded along one of the curves. “Ronan I-” He trails off, finally meeting those stormy grey eyes and finding them glossy with emotion too. They lean in at the same time, their mouths meeting in a kiss that’s a little clumsy from nerves and buoyed with hopeful giddiness.

When they part, Simon places the component in Ronan’s hands before stepping back and beginning to undress. He lays against the bed and Ronan crawls atop him as he pulls open his chest cavity. They don’t speak, they don’t dare to, as Simon reaches inside himself and pulls the broken component free. Ronan’s fingers are warm when they ease inside, ever careful, ever gentle as he slots the new component in its place. Their eyes meet again, and then their lips do a moment later and Ronan presses him down into the bed as Simon opens his mouth for more. He wants to drown in him, he wants him to wash clean the poisonous well of his thoughts and leave something pure in its wake. They kiss, again and again and again, and Simon doesn’t think of Markus anymore. 

Ronan doesn’t return to the converted storage room at the precinct and Simon no longer comes home to an empty apartment. They build a life together, something just for them. It’s a quiet, soft steady love that grows confidently, like the tired withered thorns blooming brightly after the snow melts.

**Author's Note:**

> Today's song is [Jupiter Grayscale by Gallant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aodcfnTlSZY)  
[I'm still on this hellsite.](http://archadianskies.tumblr.com)


End file.
